A Stitch in Time
by eelatan
Summary: John could only bring himself to keep one thing from the clearance of 221B.


_Inspired by a gif-set I saw on Tumblr of Martin wearing his very own Purple Shirt of Sex.  
_

_John could only bring himself to keep one thing from the clearance of 221B.  
_

**A Stitch in Time**

The stairs leading down from 221B Baker Street were noisy with the clatter of numerous pairs of feet. People had been coming and going all day, whether they were curious passers-by, officials or scientists who wanted a piece of crime history or super fans who wanted to keep their own piece of a hero. John had locked himself away in Mrs Hudson's', he couldn't bring himself to watch people buying and taking away memories of his friend.

As he started his seventh cup of tea, Mrs Hudson bustled in.

"Oh here you are dear, did you not want to see how things are going upstairs?" she called, making her way through to the kitchen.

"Not really, Mrs H. I'd rather let Greg oversee everything. I can't…" John's voice cracked and upon hearing it, Mrs Hudson came back and sat beside him on the chintzy sofa.

"I understand love. Just know that it doesn't get any easier for me either." she said quietly, a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"I know… I was thinking, there is one thing I wouldn't mind keeping." John sniffed, making his best effort at a smile.

Mrs Hudson grinned and nodded towards the upper floor. John set his tea cup down and went off in search of the item.

As he ascended the stairs, the sight that greeted him was the one he'd hoped he wouldn't see. There were papers, books, clothing, science equipment and more of Sherlock's personal effects strewn across the living room. It looked like a jumble sale and there were still a few people picking through the items. John bit his lip and inched into the room where he was greeted by Greg Lestrade.

"Alright mate? Wasn't expecting to see you up here today." Greg chirped.

John just smiled and made his way to Sherlock's old bedroom. He closed the door quietly behind him and sank to the floor with his back against it. He glanced around the room through watery eyes. They'd shut this room off just like he'd said. Everything was still in its place, as Sherlock had left it that day. A thick layer of grey dust had settled over everything, capturing the room in its poignant embrace. John blinked hard and righted himself, making his way to the wardrobe. Pulling back the doors, a wave of nostalgia hit him as a familiar scent wafted over his nostrils. All the clothes still smelt like Sherlock. Not of aftershave or washing powder, just that scent that a person has that is uniquely theirs. John's calloused fingers coursed over the array of fabrics and colours before settling over the familiar garment. A deep shade of berry purple that looked blue in certain lights or if the fabric was settled in a certain way. The garment was of soft Egyptian cotton of the expensive, well-tailored designer shirt that had been often seen on the back of the consulting detective. John lifted it down from the rail and folded it over his arm.

John nodded his goodbye at Lestrade as he made his way back downstairs where he found fresh tea and newly made scones waiting for him.

The next time Greg saw John was two weeks later as he entered the office at Scotland Yard, ready to cast his eyes over one of their stubborn cases. Greg's brows furrowed as he cast his eyes over John's attire, something about it looking strangely familiar. Instead of his usual rugged, cable knit look, John was sporting a deep purple shirt, a thin black tie and dark blue jeans. The shirt looked expensive and suddenly Lestrade realised where he'd seen the shirt before. A foggy image of Sherlock Holmes in his long coat and well-tailored suit with the sumptuous deep purple material laying smartly against the pale skin of his neck flashed through Lestrade's mind.

In theory, the shirt should be too long in the arms for John and too small in the waist but Greg suspected that Mrs Hudson was handy with a needle and thread.

"I'll get onto Molly Hooper and see what I can find out about this guy for you Greg, call you later." John reeled off as he made his way out of the office.

"Thanks John. Oh.. By the way, nice shirt." Greg called after him with a smile.

John stopped but kept his back to Lestrade before smiling to himself and waving a hand over his shoulder, making his way out into a warm London evening.


End file.
